Dragon Age: Vendetta
by Marine Brother Shran
Summary: Rendon Howe took everything she ever loved. Friends. Family. Love. Driven by hatred and vengeance, she has sworn a blood oath to bring him to justice. But as a Grey Warden, she must learn to accept her fate and put aside her hate. F!Cous/Leli Chpt 5 Up
1. Prologue

**Dragon Age: Vendetta**

**Prologue**

**Summary: Rendon Howe has taken everything she's ever loved. Friends. Family. Love.**

**Driven by hatred and vengeance, she has sworn a blood oath to bring him to justice. But as a Grey Warden, she must learn to accept her fate and put aside her hate.**

**Disclaimer: This story was inspired by Snafu1000's story, Moments in Time, including the layout of the map, and placements of certain NPCs. Kudos to her and her awesome story. I STRONGLY recommend you guys read it if you haven't, it's an awesome F!Cousland/ Leliana story.**

**I've also borrowed the concept of how my Cousland character declares her blood vengeance from A Mother's Love, by lord of the land of fire. Also an awesome writer, who dabbles in other series.**

**Lastly, my iteration of the Cousland character is mine, along with any Original Characters I may create. Otherwise everything else belongs to BioWare.**

Vengeance. Her blood demanded – _craved_ – for vengeance.

Brooding darkly over the fire, young Guinevere Cousland scowled at the man one the other side.

Commander of the Grey, Warden Duncan

The man who knocked her unconscious and took her away from Highever, when she intended to remain until she could drag her mother out. She had known with a heavy heart that her father was a lost cause. He had been right. He wouldn't have survived the standing. But her mother was fine. She could've easily escaped with them. But she had stayed behind. And died with her father.

While her pragmatic mind couldn't fault the Warden, the young woman was angry at him. Hated him even for what he did. But she hated someone else with far greater vehemence than she could ever muster towards Duncan.

Rendon Howe

Her veins boiled and burned at the very thought of the oily bastard who betrayed and destroyed her home and family.

After two days of nonstop travel, she had been finally granted a respite. Seated in front of the meagre fire Duncan had put together, she continued to glare at the Warden. Her back hurt and her feet ached. But she knew understood why they hadn't stopped until now. But it didn't stop the pain that spurned within her heart. She looked at the Highever shield, and Cousland family sword next to her.

She had seen the sword only a few times, and every time it took her breath away. Crafted with the finest silverite and engraved beautifully with the family heraldry at the blade's base, it's been her family's pride and joy for centuries. Meticulously cared for and maintained, not once had this sword been shattered. Only beaten and worn.

Abruptly standing up, she picked up her sword, ignoring the look the Warden gave her, and drew the blade. The metallic rasp as it was drawn echoed through the night. For a moment, she gazed upon her reflection. What she stared back was an unfamiliar sight. Dusty blond hair, dull purple, and a face devoid of expression. She had changed. More than she had realized.

Laying its edge upon left palm, before Duncan could even speak, she sliced across, coating the blade in her blood.

Extending her hand out, she gazed down upon the Warden, and spoke with greater clarity than ever before. "With you and the Maker as my witness, I swear this: From this life into the next, I will not rest, until Rendon Howe pays for his crimes, and falls before my blade." Blood freely dripped and fell upon the fire, unnoticed by all.

She clenched her hand, and firmly declared, "I have sworn vendetta."


	2. Gather at Lothering

**Dragon Age: Vendetta**

**Chapter I Leliana**

**Well it seems that I've drawn an audience, if the indication of visitors is accurate. Hopefully this is the start of what I hope to be a following as I dabble into the world of Dragon Age.**

**Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer, I own Guinevere, everything else belongs to BioWare. Story concept and structure I owe to Snafu1000, including her map of Fereldan, which I will be taking it and making my own variation on it.**

The woman stared at her disbelievingly at the girl, drenched in blood. She managed to stay the young Warden's blade just as it was about to behead a defenceless soldier.

The Warden faced the redhead next to her, bemused. The woman nearly took a step back when she looked into the girl's eyes. Darkness. Absolute darkness within those lifeless eyes. No spark of life. No signs of emotions. Just a solid block of black, blotting out the entirety of her soul.

"Why'd you stop me?" This time she did take a step back, letting go of her hand as well. The Warden's voice held nary a sign of emotions. It just…was. It was a simply question of why. No angry demands. No indignation. Just plain curiosity.

She eventually recovered her wits enough to respond. "They've surrendered! Surely you were taught not to strike a man while he's down."

The Warden shrugged blithely and said, "A knight's code. Not mine." The young knight and the war hound looked at her flabbergasted. The mage woman and qunari watched disinterestedly.

"What are you talking about?" The knight stated. "You're the daughter of a teryn for Maker's sake!"

The Warden barely looked over her shoulder and said, "I told you Alistair, Guinevere Cousland is dead." The woman glanced towards the one called Alistair. He looked more sad than surprised. Clearly he had heard this before. The Warden was merely reinforcing what she just stated.

The Warden turned her attention back towards the men who cowed before her. She focused more so towards the sergeant, his confidence and assurance replaced with cowardice and fear. She pulled out a cloth from her belt, and started to wipe the blade. She never broke eye contact.

"Take a message to Logain." The sergeant quickly nodded; horribly unnerved by her eerily calm demeanour. "Tell him that he will answer for his crimes."

"Yes, of course," he stammered. He scrambled onto his feet and bee lined for the door with his men.

"One more thing." They stopped, rooted where they stood. Very slowly they looked behind; absolute fear glimmered in their eyes, like a beacon. With deliberate slowness, she gradually looked over her shoulder. "Inform Rendon Howe he will _kneel_ before the seneschal for what he has done." For a moment, everyone noted how the room seemed colder. "Now…be gone." In an instant, the men ran out, their horrified screams permeating through the wooden door.

Alistair was the first to recover, quickly donning on a smile and declared, "Well, I think that went well, didn't you?"

The mage, however, was not amused. "Oh do shut up."

Guinevere tuned out the bantering and directed her attention back towards the woman before her, noting the Chantry robes. A priest or a lay sister perhaps. She noted how people were slowly backing away from her. A small inconvenience.

"Where does a sister learn to fight like that?"

The sister raised an eyebrow at such a simple question. She glanced around. Where they stood, middle of the tavern, was definitely not a good place to talk. Everyone could see them, and probably hear them.

"Perhaps we should talk somewhere more…privately?" She indicated to the raised area, where the soldiers had occupied earlier.

Guinevere nodded, and signalled everyone to where the Chantry woman indicated. Before she even took a step, people were already giving her a wide berth, eyeing her and the qunari with mixtures of wariness and fearfulness. No one dared argue them taking their seats. They weren't stupid.

When the party sat down, Guinevere noted the barkeep marshalled a few men to clean up the bodies. She waved him over and ordered ales for herself and Alistair, along with anyone else in her party. He was more than happy to oblige, both for ridding the soldiers and to stave off her ire. With haste he filled their steins and placed them on the tables. He promptly walked away. He liked the idea of living.

She eyed her drink momentarily before lifting it up to her lips. She sighed contently, feeling the cool liquid down her throat. An amenity of life she enjoyed. Drinking it reminded her of the many times –

"I apologise for interfering, but I could not just sit by and not help." She looked up from her drink to the sister sat across from her. She nodded her head once, and turned indicated for her to answer her earlier question.

"I wasn't born in the Chantry you know. Many of us had more…colourful lives before we joined."

"Quite colourful from what I saw," Alistair commented. He quickly back off at Guinevere's sidelong look.

"Those men said you're a Grey Warden. I know after what happened, you'll need all the help you can get. That's why I'm coming along."

The Warden stopped mid drink. She set down her stein and raised a brow in curiosity. "Excuse me?"

"I'm coming with you." The Warden wondered why she sounded like she was entitled to do so. "It's the Maker's will."

She leaned back against her seat, and carefully surveying the girl in front of her. "Why so eager to come with me?" Her voice remained calm and neutral. She genuinely wanted to know why someone would willingly throw their lot with her, especially with current rumours.

"It is as I said, the Maker told me so."

"More crazy? I thought we were full up already."

Guinevere sighed, both at Alistair's comment, and the sister's statement. "I care little for religious prattle. I would like to know why _you_ wish to join me. Not the will of some Divine being. If you're joining me for such a reason, I have no use for such motivations."

"How about the darkspawn is an affront to everything that is good in this world?" She continued to look back at her, resolute and confident with her stance. "I enjoy the world as it is. I will not allow an opportunity to pass where I can protect it. Maker's will or not."

Guinevere nodded in approval. "Better reason than most. If you wish to join us, you may."

The Chantry smiled and held out her hand. "I am Leliana, one of the lay-sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering. Or at least I used to be."

"Warden Guinevere." The young woman accepted the proffered hand and shook it. She left to them if they chose to introduce themselves or not. Eventually she addressed the issue of finding means of funds; one that Leliana quickly answered, mentioning various jobs available throughout the city.

The woman, Morrigan, however, disapproved. "Surely you can just take what you need. Tis not like they'll need the supplies as much as we do."

"While an efficient method, not the most appropriate," Guinevere countered.

Morrigan scoffed. "Tis a fool notion. And did you not say you're not bound to a Knight's Oath?"

"I may not be a knight, but they are not my enemy."

"Surely that's not –"

"If you don't like how I work, you may leave."

Morrigan stared at the Warden, disbelief etched across her face. "Surely you jest!"

"As sure as I am not to disturb folk who are trying to run from this Blight." She continued to drink while her free hand rested atop the war hound's head. Any further protest she silenced with a simple glare, and an air of aloofness. But even so, she continuously scanned the tavern, content with merely observing her surroundings. And her party mates.

From her seat, Leliana observed everyone at the table: a young knight, a warden whom seemed to have buried herself and her loyal Mabari, a witch of unknown origins, and a qunari who committed murder. Although she did wonder how he was released. And of course, herself. Clearly the Maker had interesting plans for all of them.

Of course, she kept the thought to herself.


	3. Guinevere's Mind

**Dragon Age: Vendetta**

**Chapter II Guinevere's Mind**

**First of all I'd like to issue an apology to Snafu1000, if she's reading this. Although yes I had said that her story had inspired me to write this, I ended doing what all writers hate: having their work plagiarised. While I didn't mean to, I actually looked back at what I had written for my drafts for chapters 2-4, and compared them to Snafu1000's story, and realized what I was doing was trying to retell, or do a parallel to her story.**

**That was not my intension, and I realize that this is about MY story, and MY Cousland, who is a completely different woman than Talia Cousland. For that, I apologize for my transgression.**

**And so, without further ado, here's the continuing story of Guinevere, and her vendetta.**

Guinevere sighed as the last bandit fell. She flicked her blade aside, clearing it of blood that stuck. She'd have to clean the engraving later.

This was an absolute waste of their time: clearing out bandits, looking for poisons, finding traps, bears, wolves. But it was a necessity. The Chanters board provided work, and they needed money. Morrigan had protested further, but she dealt with it. Sten had been a minor complication, as the townsfolk refused to let him into the village. The Templars had _kindly_ asked them to leave him outside after the first time.

"T'was such a difficult task indeed," Morrigan drawled her disdain and sarcasm dripping plainly as day. "Tis no wonder they couldn't ask of their Templar. Such difficulty."

"Would you knock it off already?" And Alistair rose to the challenge. "They've already got enough on their hands."

"Such bandits are not even worth our time," the witch calmly replied. "This task needn't more than two, maybe three, of their numbers to dispatch such pitiful foes. We'd be better off heading for our first destination already."

"If only it were so," Guinevere muttered under her breath. She headed towards the village and signalled Leliana and Neumann to follow.

"Sten, see what you can do with this armour." She indicated towards the pile of heavy armour they'd managed to scrounge up. The qunari nodded and set about to work, leaving the other two to squabble. Guinevere looked up to the sun noting the time. They needed to hurry if they wanted time to set up camp.

She glanced over to Leliana who walked slightly behind. "Does it fit?"

"It's a little tight around the chest, but otherwise comfortable." Again, she had to readjust the leather beast plate that hugged her.

Guinevere was glad that she hadn't sold her old Cousland armour back at Ostagar. But it had been awkward when they realized their chest sizes were slightly different. Presently wearing a set of scale armour she bought it would suffice, though she preferred something more protective. It didn't help the armour was starting to fall apart from constant wear and tear.

As they entered the village proper, people scurried forward like rats, their hands extended out begging for whatever they could get. Some even started to claw at her armour, grasping her legs and belt, vying for her attention, and her coin. Guinevere spared not even a glance at them, brushing them off like dust, indifferent to their plight. Their needs were not of her concern, nor would they help accelerate the completion of the vendetta.

She lightly clenched her left hand. The cut had long healed, but due to constant usage of her shield, it had long since scarred. It served as a helpful reminder to keep her focused on what she had to do. She would fulfill the vendetta; even if she had to go through the guards first.

She stopped when she noticed Leliana wasn't beside her anymore. She looked back, seeing the former chantry sister passing out what little coin she had, along with the food that was in her pack. Guinevere raised an eyebrow, nonplused regarding the former lay-sister's behaviour.

"Leliana, that's a waste of resources," she called out.

"How can you say such a thing?" the redhead replied, moving to catch up now that her task complete. "These poor souls need whatever little help we can offer."

"And we do so by fulfilling the board requests," the Warden calmly replied. "Giving our supplies will not spurn these people to do what's necessary to survive. They'll just live off what they can beg."

She was bewildered by the Warden's behaviour. Wasn't she supposed to be a Grey Warden? "So are you saying that we leave these people be? Leave them to the wolves?"

To her shock surprise, Guinevere nodded. "This village will fall, regardless if we help or not. Better we not fight something that is already fact. The smart thing would be to leave this village, and beg elsewhere. Not a dying village."

"How…how can you say such horrible things?" Leliana stammered, not believing what she heard. How could Guinevere say such things with a straight face? It was like the situation didn't really register in her mind.

"Because this is not my concern. My priorities lie in acquiring funds, and then move on. And while I have other business to complete, defeating the Blight presently coincides with them. Therefore–"

"Therefore when they don't follow, you'll abandon the Blight for your agenda?" she yelled out. She could not believe what she was hearing. She knew people could sink quite low. But this was a new low she'd seen in someone. In her rational state of mind, she might've wondered what could've caused such behaviour. But at the moment, she was starting to see only red.

"It is secondary to others." She prepared to walk away before narrowly catching Leliana's hand.

"How can you say that?" she snapped glaring angrily at Guinevere. "You're a Grey Warden!"

She returned Leliana's stare with a blank one of her own, her silver eyes giving no hint of emotion. "Not by choice, nor did I swear to become one. They may have mentioned an oath that cannot be forsworn, but I never took such oath. I have already sworn other oaths that will supersede. _That_ is my choice." She turned her back to Leliana, and said, "Return to the others. Neumann and I will go ourselves." She wordlessly resumed heading towards the chantry.

Leliana's hands clenched into tight fists. "You're no better than Loghain!"

The Warden stopped. Her voice remained neutral, unfazed. "Loghain abandoned his duty to the king as his general, and a teryn. As I stated earlier: Guinevere Cousland is dead. I am no longer bound as a Cousland to the king, or his kingdom. I am only a Warden in title." She turned to face Leliana. "What I am is the final will of the Cousland. A task I shall carry out before embracing oblivion."

Her words were enough to pull Leliana from her rage. "What…what do you mean oblivion?"

Guinevere simply looked at her for a time, seemingly considering answering her, before finally speaking. "You don't need to know." She turned around again, and walked away. A final closing to their conversation.

"Now just wait a –" She had moved to grab the younger girl's arm before realizing she was lying face down, her arm pulled back to the point she felt her shoulder wanting to pop.

"Leliana," said Guinevere, in her unusually calm tone, "please return to the others. I do not wish to harm you, nor continue this discussion. So please, return to the others." She looked over towards her dog. "Make sure she returns to the others." She waited until he finally acquiesced to her command, despite his protests of leaving his mistress. She eventually let go of Leliana, and continued on towards the chantry.

Assuming a sitting position, Leliana watched Guinevere's back, currently carrying a shield bearing the Cousland crest. She wondered what the blonde meant by 'the final will of the Cousland.' And for a moment, she sworn she could've seen something flicker in the Warden's eyes. She tried to find the word that best described what she saw. And then it hit her: despair. What could've caused such a painful look in her eyes? She didn't know. Perhaps it was something that was fuelling whatever it was that ailed the Warden.

She glanced down at her hand, lightly massaging the wrist. The grip the Warden had on her was surprisingly strong. Guinevere had moved far faster than he eyes could've tracked.

She looked up again and was disappointed as the Warden brushed off more people, begging for help only to be ignored. She had watched as their despair mounted higher and higher each and every passing day. Seeing Guinevere behave so was unforgivable. But what could she do against someone whose morals were so different than hers?

Leliana climbed back onto her feet, and looked down towards the hound, patiently waiting for her. "C'mon then," she said, nodding her head. The hound barked and trotted alongside.

When they returned, she gave Alistair a brief explanation for their early return, omitting the discussion and…altercation between the two of them. For now, she'd keep it to herself, best discussed in private with Alistair alone. She wasn't sure how Morrigan would respond, and she didn't believe the qunari would care too much.

And then a particular thought crossed her mind. "Alistair, do you happen to know how old she is?"

Said templar stopped abruptly, in turn staring at her bewildered, unsure of how to take such a question. Eventually, he settled with a perplexed, "Excuse me?"

The former chantry girl chuckled. "I only asked for her age, silly. It's not like I was asking for her measurements or anything."

"What? Maker's breath – No, wait, stop, don't wanna go there." He buried his face in his hands, groaning at the situation he suddenly dug himself into. All for the simple question of her age.

"I wager her no more than 17," Morrigan answered, seemingly examining her nails, leaning against a tree. "18 at best." She glanced towards Leliana, considering pressing her for more, but promptly squashed the idea. It was nauseating enough that she answered in the first place. No need to make it worse.

"Sounds about right," Alistair sighed, recovering his wits somewhat. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothing in particular," she casually replied, and then knelt down next to Neumann, lightly scratching the back of his ear. She smiled lightly as the hound wagged its stubby tail, a delighted expression written across its muzzle. At the least he didn't mind the attention.

The other Warden stared at her, still confused by her behaviour. He eventually shrugged, passing it off as some idle question, turning his attention elsewhere.

While lightly petting the dog, Leliana's mind travelled back towards the Warden. To be so young, and have such a haunted look in her eyes. It was a saddening thought. To that end, she did briefly wonder why her eyes were silver. But considering that Alistair's eyes were a similar shade, it was reasonable to assume that it was a side effect of becoming a Grey Warden.

She looked down at the mabari, whose expression was blissful against her comforting ministrations. Clearly he hadn't been getting much needed attention for a while. "I wonder what happened to your mistress," she silently mused. The answer she received was some mixture of a whine and growl. The sign of a loyal dog unsure of what to do.

"Such a loyal mabari," she cooed. She was familiar with how they imprint themselves upon a particular master, and that Neumann allowed the attention because Guinevere allowed her company. She had no doubt that if he were ordered to he'd attack without a second thought.

"Hey, you're back!" Alistair exclaimed. "How much we net?"

Approaching the group, the Warden held out her hand to reveal five gold pieces. "There's additional work tomorrow. We'll head out and make camp and then head back into the village tomorrow." She hefted a large bag she had been carrying, and tossed it towards Sten, who easily caught it. "I see you had to make some…adjustments."

"It is of little concern," he answered. Most of the armour had fit, but used the armour for his upper arms to reinforce his greaves. He readjusted the strap to the large sword they had recovered, and slung on the pack.

Waving her hand forward, she set off, with everyone else close behind. She hoped to avoid trouble if she could. The more daylight to set up their tents the better. Sleeping in the open did no appeal to her.

But it seemed that expedience wasn't on her side today. Ahead, armed peasants approached. This was going to be an absolute waste of her time.

"I don't know if what they say about the Grey Warden's is true, and I don't care," the leader of the group called out. "But that bounty on your – ugh!" No one had time to react before their leader crumpled in a heap, unconscious. It took everyone a moment to realize she had chopped him across the neck as they passed, and then continued one while everyone, save for Sten and Morrigan, dumbfounded and stunned, tried to grasp what just happened.

"Don't waste our time," she called out over her shoulder. "Leave this city if you wish to survive the darkspawn." Neither the qunari nor the witch commented as they followed.

Alistair had to blink a few times to even realize what he just saw. "Maker's breath…I…I…"

"I didn't even see that." Leliana finished for him, equally surprised.

Thankfully, the villagers gathered up their leader, and run off. Leliana and Alistair feared what would've happened if they had tried to push their luck. Most likely a very disastrous result for them.

As they approached the ramp to the Imperial Highway, both Wardens' eyes flared, halting their movements. Guinevere glanced back in askance towards Alistair.

The Templar's brows furrowed in cold realization. "Darkspawn," he muttered.

"Someone help!"

Looking towards where the cry came from, she realized that the Darkspawn source was coming from there. She sighed, irate that they'd have to fight before they could continue on. She calmly walked towards the fight, casually unhooking her shield from her pack, strapping it, and drew her sword.

"Let's get this over with."


	4. Observations and Impressions

**Dragon Age: Vendetta**

**Chapter III Observations and Impressions**

Sten nodded approvingly. His tent was set up, and dinner preparations were underway. He looked to the Warden quietly converse with the two dwarves they saved earlier, who'd trailed after them and made camp. While he questioned their ability to fight, they were at least useful merchants.

Then his thoughts turned towards Guinevere. She was a curious oddity. She claimed to be a Grey Warden, but she was a woman. It makes no sense. But yet she could fight, quite well for someone of her physical stature.

She had the speed and grace befitting of her. Like a dancer. But how she held herself, how her shoulders were squared, and her back straight and confident, she carried herself like a man. Like a karasten. What point was there to be something she was never meant to be? The Qun teaches that women are priests, artisans, shopkeepers, or farmers. But she was none of these. This must be dealt with.

"Warden, a moment of your time." Taking her aside, he discussed his confusion of her gender and status, but to his surprise, the issue seemed to confuse her just as much. He explained what her roles should be. However, she ended the discussion, stating they were going in circles, and she wasn't interested in arguing or defending cultural beliefs. While surprised, he appreciated her candour. And when he thought back, it was true; they were merely wasting time, and their breath. But eventually, she'd see the light of the Qun, and understand.

After their brief conversation, the Warden bade him goodnight, and returned to the fire. He, however, stayed just aside of the fire. He drew the sword on his back and examined it. It felt strange in his hands. It wasn't his sword. It wasn't the one he had been born to wield. It was as strange as this armour. He'd more comfortable wearing the armour of his people. But it would do.

Clearing his mind of such thoughts, he instead practiced his forms. It was best to keep one's skills sharp and ready, like a sword. And a much more practical use of his time.

Seated by the fire, Leliana glanced up towards the Warden before her. She wondered went on in the warden's mind. She noted how the young girl had a particular view of things. It seemed utilitarian, towards a particular goal. A goal that placed the Blight as a secondary, possibly an optional, objective.

She watched as Guinevere calmly cleaned her sword with a rag, careful to clear out the gunk that built up in the engraving. Marked with the symbols of the Cousland, Leliana wondered what sort of attachment Guinevere felt to her family, especially since she considered her old self dead.

But Leliana could see the blonde warden maintain it with surprising care, making sure to clean out every single crevice with the cloth. Whatever she couldn't, she'd use other tools from the small pouch carrying her maintenance kit. She had believed that the Warden had no real sense of possession, or self. But even someone who was merely bound by oath wouldn't put the amount of detailed work into cleaning a weapon. There had to be some remnant of that person within her for that level sort of care, especially if the armour was any indication.

It was a mess. It was riddled with dents and patchwork repairs, with only the most basic maintenance performed on it to keep it in working order. Otherwise, all that seemed to hold it together were the seams of the armour. What may have originally been some sort of royal armour, was a shadow of its former self.

She looked over towards the Templar, who presently busied himself by cooking the stew. If it could even be called such a thing. It looked like it was taking on a uniform grey colour. She couldn't even tell what was in there anymore. It was either some sort of Fereldan dish, or Alistair had a poor sense of culinary skill.

She shook her head and decided to at least try. If not, she at least had some dried meat to chew on instead.

Guinevere held up the weapon, cradling the blade in the rag. She examined the blade, carefully scrutinizing it from top to bottom, looking for anything she may have missed. She nodded once to herself, putting away her cleaning kit before sheathing her sword. Standing up and strapping her sword back onto her belt, she walked away declaring she was going on patrol. Neumann was immediately up on his feet and by his mistress's side.

Leliana watched the Warden for some time, until her form was shrouded in darkness, and all that could be seen was her silhouette. She looked over towards the Templar. Now was a good a time as any.

"Alistair, there's something I think you should know."


	5. Discipline

**Dragon Age: Vendetta**

**Chapter IV Discipline**

**So I decided to do a double post, but that's because chapter 3 was a very tiny post, more so like an excerpt. So here you go, enjoy chapter 4.**

Honnleath had been an absolute disaster. The job was so simple. Outwit a demon and save Amalia, and they would've secured lodging for the night.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple.

They got the golem. But that was as far as their victory went. They were forced to slay the girl.

Guinevere looked across the fire towards Alistair. His gaze was aimed down at the fire between them. So was Leliana. They hadn't been able to look at her in the eye since earlier today. Sten's expression was unreadable before he left for patrol. Morrigan glared at her contemptuously, though for differing reasons. The only one who really seemed to care was Neumann. Even if it hadn't accelerated her vendetta plans, she had failed. Sandal and Bodahn weren't privy to the story, and so treated her as before.

Guinevere realized she had lost control. She recalled the constant lectures of the disasters of losing one's composure. She found this an oddity. She had no real sense of value in any given battle, save for her own life. There were no stakes in these fights. There was no reason for her to get angry, or lose control. Though unfortunate, the death of the girl would only disappoint her. She would've killed her as she would any darkspawn.

But she had been absolutely wrong.

When they failed to negotiate, she watched the demon take over the girl. The transformation twisted and contorted her, violently turning her into an abomination. Guinevere didn't think Amalia even had time to scream. That had been the only prompt before remembering hearing an angry scream. Things had become hazy after that.

What she remembered next was the coppery tang of blood in her mouth and the foul stench of rot in her nose. It took her a few moments to regain her bearings. The first thing she saw was the demon and its summons shredded remains. She had watched with muted disgust as the remains morphed back into what remained of a little girl. When she turned around, seeing the shocked expressions upon everyone's face, and the blood dripping off her sword and the floor, did the scope of what happened dawned on her.

She had lost control. She had snapped in a fit of rage, outright assaulting and slaughtering everything in her path. Just looking at the remains, she knew she had absolutely torn them apart. She could hardly tell what they might've looked like before she attacked.

Reporting back hadn't been pleasant. Matthias was absolutely devastated. Hysterical. He cursed her angrily, calling her names, accusing she didn't really care about his daughter. That she didn't even try. He nearly didn't give her the means to activate the golem. However, Morrigan persuaded before Guinevere was able to say anything. After reluctantly giving them the activation, he demanded they'd leave the village immediately, their presence unwelcomed.

Again Morrigan attempted to sway the man, but the Warden had put her foot down. She had no intension of antagonizing them any further. The ensuing stare down had been one of the tensest moments yet. In that moment, Guinevere honestly believed that she'd have to strike down Morrigan. She remembered gripping he scabbard, her thumb gently easing the blade. She knew how free spirited the witch was. And she knew how easily Morrigan could kill her right now. She hadn't looked forward to the possible repercussions of the damage they'd have caused.

Thankfully Morrigan backed down, saying how she would settle for the golem.

So it was how they were now at camp, with her, Leliana, Alistair, Neumann, and Shale, the golem, sitting by the fire, and Morrigan away in her usual separate camp. Sten was still out on a patrol, due to return soon.

Guinevere sighed, tired of the silence. "If you wish to say something, I'd appreciate you speak frankly regarding my behaviour."

Alistair finally looked up, and frowned. "How are we supposed to react to…to _that_? Honestly? Maker's breath, it was like you didn't even _care_ it was a little girl! How were we even supposed to give him his daughter with her body like…like that?"

"While it was…regretful that I hadn't been able to negotiate, perhaps I shouldn't have accepted his request."

"No, it was the right thing to do," Alistair firmly declared. Despite the results, he had honestly believed she would turn down the plea. "You did the right thing."

"Deception, while underhanded, would've been your best weapon against it." From the tree line, Sten stepped into the fire's light as he approached. "The most appropriate course would've been to accept its proposal, and then slay it when its guard's down." Though his words were simple, and his tone measured, there was some sliver of disappointment for her performance.

"But instead, you attempted to reason with that which cannot be reasoned. Therefore, you failed in your task of saving the child. You must be more patient with your immediate goals. Speed will not always be of the essence, to complete your mission." Drawing his sword and a whetstone, he sat down and began a slow, methodical pace of sharpening his blade. "Remember, a disciplined mind, is a disciplined warrior."

He paused momentarily, a thought crossing his mind. He abruptly stood up, and stared at the Warden. "Come with me. And bring your sword." He then walked away to the small clearing. Stopping center of it, he turned around and waited, sword in hand.

Guinevere studied him for a moment. She wondered if he had stated it jest. But the longer they stared at one another, the sooner she realized he was serious. Sten continued to blankly look at her, but his violet eyes conveyed mild irritation for her lack of initiative. She eventually relented, picking up the Cousland sword and walked over towards where he stood.

"Good. I am going to teach you something that will be prudent in your future endeavours." He took a step back from the Warden. He raised his sword held firmly in both hands, his stance loose, but ready. "Watch closely." He drew a deep breath. And then he began.

Guinevere watched as Sten began to slowly perform a sequence manoeuvres, effortlessly transiting from one stance to the next, his rhythm unrelenting. She could hear his breathing, calm and controlled. His eyes ahead at some target just beyond him, but focused on nothing but his task. His movements were as fluid as water. Nothing else matter. Only the task. His slow motions measured, controlled, precise. Every block, every sweep, every thrust.

It all seemed pointless to her. There was no practical application. Not at that speed. The only thing that came to mind was that it was some sort of exercise, performed to familiarize the body with particular movements.

And then it hit her; the reason and purpose of this display.

Sten slowly pivoted back to his original position, releasing an equally slow breath, signalling the end of his display.

He lowered his sword and stood at his full height again. "The word in the qunari tongue would be difficult to translate. I trust you see the purpose of this lesson."

The Warden nodded once. "Discipline. Control. Precision. The ability to control my blade, and my mind. To clear it of unnecessary thoughts."

"Precisely," the massive man said, somewhat surprised by her perceptiveness. "A warrior who allows their emotions to run rampant is a danger not only to himself, but to his allies as well. This will be rectified." Although this was something every soldier knew it was important to remind and emphasize the importance of battlefield discipline.

The Warden's reply was immediate. "Teach me."

"I intend to."

From the fire, the remaining three watched as Guinevere received instruction from Sten, trying to mimic the movements he had just displayed. Over the next hour or so they watched; a quiet audience to the performance of instructor and student. Guinevere struggled for some time, unfamiliar with the movements she had to perform. Every time she made a mistake, Sten calmly pointed out her errors, correcting her as necessary.

"Consider each stance and relate to how an enemy would strike," he advised.

The Warden merely nodded, and tried again. By the second hour, she was able to perform a passable version of the first part, and decently the second part.

The qunari eventually called a halt. "That is enough. We will continue tomorrow night." He started to walk towards the fire, but stopped and turned to face. "I know not of this 'final will of the Cousland'. But I can see it that you intend to fulfill it. I will say this: allow it to consume you, and it will destroy you, and your allies." And then he left.

She watched his retreating form until he sat back down at the fire, and resumed sharpening his sword. She turned her attention towards the stars, and gazed. Sten was right about one thing. Her vendetta would destroy the party. She considered going straight to Amaranthine to answer her vendetta. However, it would draw them too close to Denerim, and therefore, Loghain's men. They'd most likely be killed before they could even enter the market district.

Guinevere glanced up, hearing the shuffle of grass. Leliana approached, her expression guarded, but somewhat concerned. She handed Guinevere's waterskin, which she politely accepted, and slowly upended is contents. The Warden nodded in thanks and headed towards her tent.

"Guinevere." The Warden stopped and turned to face Leliana, who was looking at her with a mix of worry and concern. "If I may ask…what happened in there?"

The Warden blinked, somewhat confused. She opened her mouth to reply, but the deep stare she was receiving forced her to reconsider the answer. She pondered on it a bit more. Combined with Leliana's gaze, she eventually realized the real meaning behind the question.

To that, she sighed and shrugged her shoulders, her armour lightly creaking as she moved. "I am unsure myself. I remember seeing what that demon did to that girl. My…everything seemed to be a haze afterwards, until I realized I had slaughtered her. What happened in between, I cannot say. It is the honest truth."

Sensing no further questions, she turned to leave.

"Who's Oren?"

She stopped; her eyes wide in surprise. "W-what?"

"I…we heard you screaming names," she slowly explained. She could only see the Warden's back, and what seemed to be a tremble in her shoulders. "Oren, Fergus, Oriana, Nan, and such."

Guinevere said nothing for the longest time. Her mind raced trying to understand what Leliana just told her. She struggled to maintain her composure. She hadn't thought of them since that night nearly 2 months ago. She clenched her eyes tight, trying to force back the memories. She didn't need them anymore. They belonged to someone who had died that same night.

Taking a measured breath, she forced to keep her voice steady. "What…what happened, exactly?"

"So few words can describe the fury you presented today. The only word fit…would be berserker. You flew into an absolute rage, screaming death upon them, saying how you would make them pay for killing the people you mentioned."

"I…I see." And still she refused to turn around. And still her chest continued to constrict. She couldn't breathe. In fact she struggled to keep her breath steady.

From behind, Leliana slowly approached, concern overriding her earlier wariness. This sudden behaviour shift didn't seem right. She gently placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, suddenly feeling how she seemed to be trembling. The archer moved to stand in front.

She couldn't help but be surprised, seeing those silver eyes glimmering in unshed tears. And within those eyes, she gleamed something she'd thought she'd ever see in those eyes: pain. Forcibly bottled and compressed, she feared that Guinevere was on the verge of another breakdown, or outburst of some sort.

"Guinevere?" she cautiously called out, ready to react. "Are…are you alright?" There was no response. All she could hear was laboured breathing in an effort to keep control of whatever it was that afflicted her.

The blonde said nothing for the longest time. She merely continued to breath, one shuddery breath after another. Her gaze remained on the ground.

Leliana watched Guinevere, unsure of what to make of it. She leaned down to look at the blonde's face, hoping to get a better idea of what was going through her mind. But staring through her were those same lifeless silver eyes. All she saw was the same blank void that she saw every time she looked her in the eye. What was going through her mind? What was happening?

Guinevere suddenly jerked and pulled back upright. She seemed disoriented, looking around as if to gain her bearings before turning her attention back to the bard.

"Guinevere?"

"What...what happened?"

"You...just...seemed like your mind wandered off," the redhead answered, unsure of what to make of the sudden episode. "I had asked you about the people you had shouted about, and then you seemed...to just fade away."

The Warden nodded in understanding. "To answer your question, they were members of the Cousland family."

"Were? You speak as if they're gone."

"That's because they are," she deadpanned.

"Oh." Leliana suddenly felt awkward, having stumbled over something so personal. "I...I'm sorry..."

The Warden, however, shook her head. "It matters little. They are all gone, including Guinevere Cousland. I exist to simply fulfill their final will."

"And...what will, would that be?"

What, Guinevere said next chilled Leliana down to the bone.

"To bring Arl Rendon Howe to justice." As she walked away leaving behind a stunned Leliana, she stopped to say one more thing. "My justice."

Leliana barely registered the light clinking Guinevere's armour as she walked away. All she could focus on was what she had seen not just moments ago. For the first time since meeting the young warden, she felt fear. She was afraid of what Guinevere was. In a small instance, she saw something she'd never expect from the younger girl.

She saw pain. She saw torment. She saw absolute sadness. But that all paled to the emotion that burned deeply in those silver eyes.

Vengeance. Anger. Hatred.

Her voice and expression spoke an even greater amount. Guinevere not only hated the Arl. She absolutely despised the man. She had spat, for no other would could describe the disdain she had for the name, his name out with such vehemence, Leliana wondered just what exactly the warden meant by her justice. What would she do when she finally encountered the man?

Which suddenly led to the next question: what has the Arl of Amaranthine done to offend the Cousland family so badly that she'd be out for his blood? She did say that the family was gone. Did he have something to do with it? Did he murder the Couslands?

She turned around to catch Guinevere ducking into her tent. Leliana sighed as she wondered: just how dangerous was Guinevere Cousland?


	6. On the Road

**Dragon Age: Vendetta**

**Chapter V On the Road**

"I am curious, it wasn't very forthcoming with its intentions, but now that we're alone perhaps it can enlighten me." Shale raised a stone 'brow' as he regarded the Warden carefully. Having capitalized on an opportunity to speak with Guinevere alone, he cornered her, away from prying eyes and ears, and asked for his questions to be answered.

The Warden sighed as she ran a hand through her hair. "What is there to know? Without a control rod, I can't really control you. I can 'advice and suggest,' and unless you have reason to, you won't obey orders. I just offered you a choice to join me. You didn't have to."

"That is true," the giant agreed thoughtfully. "But it still hasn't answered my question."

Guinevere looked upon the golem with surprise. "Didn't I just say I don't 'intend' anything? While your support would help me with the Blight, you could wander off to the Free Marches, I couldn't stop you.

"Now unless you have any more questions..."

Shale paused a moment, silently contemplating on a thought before he turned his attention back to her. "One more. I have noticed that its behaviour is...shall we say, clashing with certain members of the party. Does it have to do with its overall lack of enthusiasm to the task at hand?"

"You could...say that."

"Then allow me to propose this: why not...leave?" the giant questioned. "Just as it's in no position to stop me, I see it having no reason to stay. It's clear to me that the goals of this Blight and its goals only just barely come together. Would it not be more prudent to just accomplish its true task?"

Guinevere wryly chuckled. She began to idly pace back and forth. "If it were only so Shale...if it were only so..."

"Then am I to assume that there are circumstances outside of its control that bind it to the group?"

The young wearily nodded. "If I leave, things go to hell. Alistair could lead worth shit, and I'm not sure how Sten would do things. Leliana and Morrigan are just following me."

"Hmm...a predicament indeed, but it still doesn't particularly answer the question."

"Honestly Shale, I have no idea why I continue with this," Guinevere tiredly sighed.

"Honesty," the golem scoffed. "Now _that_ would be interesting to see among your kind."

"One would think," the warden sighed in agreement, and started to lead them back to camp. "Was there anything else you wanted to ask?"

"Not at the moment," Shale answered as he slowly lumbered along behind the warden. "Besides, the constant wagging of its moist little tongue was beginning to distract me."

The blonde snorted in amusement. "Well you'll have to get used to it when you talk to us 'flesh creatures'. We all have one."

"Joy..." he muttered sourly. "Disgusting," he sighed under his breath. Stepping out back into the clearing, Shale set down a ways away from the camp, and assumed his usual pose: looking up.

Guinevere continued on towards here camp, entering her tent and started to undo her armour. As she loosened the buckles for the breastplate, she couldn't help but miss the heavy armour she used to wear; the one she'd given to Leliana. She immediately pushed the thought from her mind. She already carried the Cousland sword and shield.

Her shoulders suddenly felt lighter as the last strap loosened and the plate fell into her hands. Looking it over, she noted all the nicks, dents, and patches she'd done to keep the armour in relative working order.

The quality had been questionable when she bought it, and now she wished that she'd paid the extra 5 sovereigns for the red steel scale armour, instead of the grey iron. Setting the piece aside, there was no point dwelling on it. She should've known better, and now she was paying for it. She'd just have to go to the smithy in Redcliffe and purchase new armour. She continued to take off her armour.

Once down to her tunic and trews, she stepped out of the tent with the Cousland sword in hand, and sat before the fire, where Leliana busied herself preparing several rabbits she'd caught throughout the day. And to her surprise, Morrigan quietly worked beside the redhead, looking after what she assumed was a pot of stew, or soup. She glanced towards Alistair who wore a childishly sour expression. He must've been kicked off from cooking.

Turning her attention to her intended task, she drew the blade. Examining the blade, she couldn't help but look upon her reflection in the blade. She frowned at the sight staring back at her. Dull, grey, lifeless eyes looked back at her. But it was as if her reflection was trying to say something to her. As if there was something she was missing. This wasn't the first time either. She'd been seeing this image for what felt like months now. Pushing the thought from her mind, she set down the sword and pulled out her cleaning kit. Her time was best doing something productive.

Perhaps she should spend time reinforcing the breastplate again later. They did manage to salvage some scraps of metal from a darkspawn encounter earlier. She could probably get a few more battles out of the armour that way.

Dinner was a simple affair. Not surprisingly, once it was all put together and ready, Morrigan took her portion and returned back to her part of the camp, and stayed there. Guinevere and Sten in silence, while Alistair and Leliana talked with one another. She'd caught pieces of the conversations, mostly around their time in the chantries, but ignored it in general. Shale of course continued to stand where he was, just quietly watching. Always watching.

His behaviour unnerved Alistair. He brought it up during the meal, but the golem shrugged and ignored his complaints. He started to make idle jokes throughout dinner; typical. She could understand why, but she still didn't enjoy them nonetheless.

Excusing herself from the fire, she grabbed her dishes, and went to the nearby stream where she started to wash them. She wasn't fond of these silences. It was hard to keep her mind blank. If only she could move without thought; shut her mind down until she needed to really think.

"Mind if I join you?" The warden needed look to see who it was. She recognised Leliana's accent. Despite her general distrust of the entire party, she couldn't help but feel relaxed when she heard her voice. It was like the gentle tune of a flute. Soft, slow, melodic, delicate, graceful, these words and more could describe her voice. She didn't say anything, but hearing her voice often put her mind at ease.

Guinevere nodded in acknowledgement and continued to wash her dishes. From the corner of her eye, she watched as the redhead started to perform the same actions. They remained like this until everything was done, set aside in a neat pile.

The warden turned to fact the redhead. "You spoke of a vision. Could you please elaborate on that?" She immediately noted Leliana's discomfort. The set in her jaw; the sudden clench of her fist; the downward glances swaying back and forth; this wasn't the first time she brought it up apparently. "If you don't wish to speak of it, I'll just –"

"Wait." Leliana sighed heavily. "I knew this would come up sooner or later. I don't know how to explain."

"Perhaps the vision itself," the warden offered. "Best place as any."

The redhead nodded. Taking a deep breath, she spoke of her dream; of a veil so dark, so thick, so consuming, that it swallowed everything it touched like a tidal waving crashing upon the shores, enveloping everything it touched. Light, shadows, good, evil, she watched it all disappear as the veil consumed them all, before she too fell into the mist.

Guinevere looked at her. She never believed in the Maker or Chantry teachings. She respected those who followed and preached it, but she was always sceptical of what they taught. This was no different.

"So it's just a dream," she deadpanned. "Why say it's a vision?"

"I've had dreams," the former sister admitted, shrugging nonchalantly. "This was...different, somehow." That morning she'd visited the chantry's garden when she noticed a peculiar site. She spoke of this one particular rosebush that bloomed a single flower. But the strange part was how the bush was supposed to be dead, by all sense of the word. It was dry and crumbling. The dirt around it was just as dry, and not even a single leaf covered its gnarled remains. But despite it all, it still gave life to a single, healthy rose; like the Maker Himself had blessed it, saying that despite the darkness and chaos, there was hope.

Guinevere continued to look at her, unsure of what to make of the story. "And this made you want to help me?"

The response she got only made partial sense to her. She wasn't sure of what to make of the religious prattle, but she could understand how she wanted to protect what she could from the Blight, and that she refused to stand by when she's more than capable of doing something and actually help bring a possible end to the Blight. While the Blight was of no concern to her, she did have to commend such dedication, and patriotism to the land.

Guinevere regarded Leliana closely. She could not question the redhead's commitment to the task at hand. She intended to see it through right to the end. It was an admirable dedication to the goal. She just wasn't sure if they'd see eye to eye on a lot of things. She could tell that there were subjects where their views would clashes. Things would only continue to class in the future, she was sure of it.

The warden nodded before picking up her belongings and started her way back to camp, with Leliana in tow. "Believe what feels right to you. That's all I can say."

From behind the warden, Leliana smiled lightly. "Thank you, Guinevere."


End file.
